


Unlike Anything, When You're Lovin' Me

by HandsAcrossTheSea, trashhearts67



Series: alpha4alpha [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Dean Winchester, Breeding Kink, Choking, Dirty Talk, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Piss kink, Scent Kink, Top Sam Winchester, Watersports, this fic is nothing but a product of enablement and why I should NEVER be left unsupervised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 12:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/pseuds/trashhearts67
Summary: Dean dips his head for a second, inhaling the yeast-and-sweat scent of the air, laced on top with the musky I dare you to get in my way sharpness of Sam. Fuck, he’s cleaned up, Dean can tell, and he doesn’t have to look up to know that Sam’s coming through the door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I continue to add more and more to the landfill, I just want to take a moment to say that this story is the product of neither of the authors having a sense of "stop" but instead encouraging each other by near constant texting of "hey, imagine this (insert dirty-hot scenario here)" Seriously. This is why we should not be left to our own devices, but this is the bed we have uh, messed up.
> 
> THIS FIC CONTAINS WATERSPORTS. If that is not your thing, stay away. It's in the third chapter, so if you want to skip it, I understand.
> 
> From trashhearts67 - "I take full responsibility for any and all trash you find unacceptable in the following work. When (author's name redacted) felt unsure about something, I was there to assure him that there was NO SUCH THING AS TOO MUCH OR TOO FAR. I got brought in as a supervisor and have instead become an overenthusiastic cheerleader and accomplice. Welcome to the landfill."

“You keep ordering those, and I’m starting a tab for you.” Ellen pours another dram of whiskey, and slides it towards Dean. “Just because you’re family doesn’t mean you drink free.”

Dean swallows half of it, winking at her. “C’mon Ellen, I’ll wash up for my wages.” Maybe not wash, but definitely sweep. Or something. Whatever requires the least amount of coordination from him, because he’s pretty buzzed right now, and Sam isn’t even here yet. Not that it matters, because he’d be partying it up either way.

“Just keep taking up space and look pretty,” she teases, and turns away to serve another patron. Room full of hunters, and all of them are terrified of her. Even if she wasn’t an alpha, Dean’s pretty sure she could hold this place down with one hand tied behind her back. Yeah, he’ll pay, it’s just part of the banter.

And gives him something to do until Sam arrives. He’d been doing...something, Dean’s not entirely clear what, just that he promised he’d meet Dean at the roadhouse when he was finished. Probably working out, or reading. Just… taking time for himself, which Dean gets. They’ve been kind of up each other’s asses for the last few days, and Dean’s more than happy to just sit and drink while Sam takes a beat.

Doesn’t mean he misses him, but Dean’s confidence tends to go up when he’s got a couple of drinks in him. He’s not trying to get drunk, no sir - not if it means he gets Sam later. He likes being alert for that. Well. As close to alert as he’s suspecting he’ll be. Sam ends up doing a lot of the work anyway, but that’s not so bad. Dean can get on board with just taking, and it’s not like he isn’t a grateful receiver. Hell, Dean’s turned into a pretty damn good bottom, even if that’s not what his nature is supposed to be simpatico with. H

Honestly, nature can shove it, because nature hasn’t seen Sam with his face dripping all sweaty as he lords over Dean’s back and snap-fucks his hips against him. That shit’s hot, and Dean’s a glutton for that sort of punishment. Dean Winchester, alpha and monster killer, extraordinaire, and the minute his little brother lifts his arm to scratch his damn head the pheromones are so fucking strong Dean has to fight not dropping to his knees. Pavlovian response, or something.

Dean is going to need another drink. He’s not scared of Sam, not here, but there are plenty of other alphas in the room that might need to see him marking his territory, Whiskey helps.

“Where is he, anyway?” Ellen pushes him a glass of water, the warning in her eye stern enough that Dean knows damn well he better drink it. “You get one, you get the other.”

Lady, if you only knew.

“Fucked off to do somethin’.” Dean takes a long pull of the water, cold behind the whiskey, but just as good. “He’ll be here.” Dean grins to himself, for no other reason that Sam’s coming and he’s going to smell good when he walks through the door. Seriously, that’s all it takes, is for Sam to just fucking exist, an alpha’s alpha, and he’s been doing this thing a lot more lately where he puts his hair up in this dorky bun and hell, Dean kind of loves it. 

Ellen walks away, then comes back a moment later. “Mind if I ask you something?” She lowers her voice, and Dean leans into her space - some more of that contravention of nature he’s been getting more comfortable with. Alphas don’t get this close, but like Ellen said, she’s family, and has enough sense to keep all of that macho-killer alpha nonsense under control. 

So maybe his perception of the world has undergone some drastic changes.

“What’s up?”

“When John passed, how did he handle it? I know… they had their differences.” Ellen bites her lips, makes sure no one wants her attention right this moment. “I know it’s not necessarily my place to ask, but the last time I saw your brother, he seemed angry, and I know that with John being what he was…”

Dean plays with the condensation on his glass for a moment, shrugging. “We had our ways of handling it. He’s alright, for the most part. You know what happens when a parent uh, goes.” When Mom had died, Dean hadn’t been old enough to really have its full impact. Dad did, definitely, and now Dean knows why he spent so long being unbalanced. Angry. Frightened. Their bond, even if the outward nature of it was sometimes violent, Dad still loved them. Cared for them, as only an alpha with kids can. Sam didn’t always believe it, and hell, there were times that Dean had his doubts too - but it’s still fresh enough that Dean feels that hurt deep.

He takes another sip of whiskey and laughs, more for himself than Ellen. “He’d be knockin’ em back with us right now, you know. Man could outdrink all of us.” He raises his glass, and Ellen pours him another.

“Want me to let you stew for a while?”

Dean drinks, shaking his head. “Keep ‘em coming, we’re off duty tonight.”

Ellen gives him a look and nods towards the water. “Wait for your brother.”

_ Yes ma’am. _

Dean watches the bar fill up, betas, alphas, omegas, here for refreshment rather than anything more sinister. Ellen doesn’t let the place get too chummy, lest she end up replacing furniture over jealousy. Once had been enough, and Dean had been there when that fight had broken out. Got in a couple of good swings himself, one of those  _ drinking to get Sam out of his head  _ nights. Two weeks after he’d dropped the kid off at Stanford, when he’d been fighting a whole hell of a lot of guilty feelings and was looking for an outlet. 

He’s gotten better.

Part of him wants to get in a fight with Sam, not  _ with Sam,  _ just at his back. The adrenaline rush, Sam snarling, Christ - fucking boner inducing. Dean’s finding his kinks have changed, and a lot of them have to do with Sam baring teeth. Or having his teeth against Dean’s skin. Fuck, it’s just Sam’s mouth in general, smart, pretty,  _ filthy -  _ Dean needs to stop, before the bar finds out what alpha slick smells like. He thought he’d be grossed out about that, but truth be told, Dean’s never not at least a little wet. He blames his mate for that, as much as he does himself. 

Dean gets up for a piss, glad he’s a little unsteady on his feet so he doesn’t end up trying to beat one out at the urinal. Ellen’s warning on the mirror is stern enough, and Dean tries to abide by that.  _ You want to do target practice, shooting range is down the block.  _ Heh. The thought of Ellen cursing to herself as she wipes up alpha spunk because someone couldn’t control themself is way too amusing to not chuckle at, and he ends up standing there, dick in hand, looking like he’s laughing at himself. He zips up when the door swings open behind him, clears his throat, nods to the guy, and washes his hands. C’mon Dean, you’re dick ain’t  _ that  _ funny.

He takes his place on his barstool - whiskey glass gone and replaced by a beer, thanks Ellen - and right as he’s taking a sip, he smells him. Not even in the fucking door yet, and Dean knows exactly where he is.

Dean dips his head for a second, inhaling the yeast-and-sweat scent of the air, laced on top with the musky  _ I dare you to get in my way  _ sharpness of Sam. Fuck, he’s cleaned up, Dean can tell, and he doesn’t have to look up to know that Sam’s coming through the door. He’s in the building, the pump of adrenaline in his veins, which means Sam was working out. 

_ Yeah, Sammy, get fuckin’ big for me. _

Dean hopes like hell he didn’t actually vocalize that, but to be on the safe side he takes a long pull of beer. It’s a damned good ale, whatever it is, and he’s already holding up his fingers for two more.

Sam’s ass connecting with the barstool coincides with the beer being slid in front of him, Ellen leaning forward to give him a quick hug. “Dean’s just a little ahead of you.” Ellen gestures to the whiskey she’s already pouring for Sam, because of course he doesn’t get any guff about having some. The fucking dimples, they get her every time.

“I’ll catch up.” Sam bumps Dean with his knee  and he finally turns his head to look at him and yeah, that stupid hot bun is there and he’s all scruffy, wearing one of those v-neck tees that pull low enough Dean can make out the top of his pecs, covered in hair and musk and just… musk. Lots of it.

And his biceps look enormous, especially when he lifts his beer to his mouth and gives Dean one of those  _ I want to climb you  _ looks. He’s not wearing deodorant, because he really fucking wants Dean to pass out right here, inside a room full of people he’d rather not do that in. Or go down on him, definitely one or the other. He doesn’t even feel the eyes on them yet, knowing damn well they throw off a weird as fuck scent. Dean hadn’t noticed it until one day, after they fucked in the Impala (something that’s aggravatingly gotten to be rather difficult, with both of them being, well,  _ large _ ) and Dean had opened the doors the next morning to find...something. Couldn’t even remember what it was, their combined scent had been so strong. 

He knows that it follows them, and he’s okay with that. Clings to them, like their very own repellant. Omegas get crazy for it, but don’t get close. Alphas are confused, give them space - except Ellen, apparently. 

Dean can live with that, really. He’s only ever really got eyes for Sam these days, and Sam certainly provides him with enough to look at.

“You get what you needed?” Dean shifts, body turned towards Sam, wanting to hang on to his every motion. Sam is already sitting so that he’s shielding Dean, second fucking nature at this point. They do that without thought, nothing between or behind but each other. Sam sets his beer down, and Dean watches his tongue snake across his lips to lick up the beer from his lips.

“Think so. Probably scared the other alphas working out, but hey, I’ve got people to stay strong for.” Sam flexes his bicep and yep, Dean’s pretty fucking hopeless, spending one second looking at him before he has to turn away. Sam and Dean Winchester, fucked in the head by a whole bunch of shit that wasn’t their damn fault, too close, too intense, too  _ everything  _  - Dean’s heard the talk, second or third hand. 

Trying to shield Sam from that is difficult, but perving on his little brother here on home ground, that’s cause for alarm. He shouldn’t, he can’t, but Sam’s musk is everywhere and Dean’s moved past the point of buzzed. He’s warm from the inside out, fingers scratching at the base of his belly and spine, heightened by the way Sam’s looking at him. Sam’s fingers are loosely curled around his beer bottle, the other in his lap, near his knee and they’re very nearly touching, maybe burning for it, just a little bit. 

“Like it when you’re…” Dean’s not sure what, but he makes himself turn back to the bar, skin lit up by Sam’s body heat. Sam leans over and while his skin doesn’t quite make contact, he’s close enough to know that he’s being scented. 

“Might want to ease up there, pretty boy, I can’t take all of ‘em if they start coming for you.”

_ Pretty boy. _

Goddamn. Pretty boy.

A million times he’s heard that, more than he could ever want to count, either as derision or some creepy attempt to promise a good time. Dean’s a fucking alpha, and yeah, when he was younger before he started bulking up, sure. So what if he takes after Mom. That wasn’t his fucking fault, and for a time… Dean hated it. Hated that his lips and face were soft, inviting. Only worked for him when he wanted to.

Why does it feel so fucking different coming from Sam?

“Sammy…”

“Shhh, just… drink your beer.” Sam takes a swallow of his own, throat bobbing and voice humming with satisfaction. It’s good beer, but fuck, does Sam have to turn it into softcore porn? Chances are he doesn’t know what that term has meant in the past - Sam never was let in the sorts of places that Dean heard it the most, and it’s definitely for the better. 

But Dean can’t deny the rush of heat that just nailed him in the gut, nor the wetness that he felt against his ass. Sam’s not responded to it, but he will. He hopes he’s the only one that does, because-

Ellen is staring at him, eyes narrowed. Dean goes still, and Sam finally catches on, looking at Dean, then at Ellen.

“Are you two…”

Sam doesn’t say anything, and Dean drains the rest of Sam’s whiskey. “Ellen, it… I know it seems confusing, or...whatever, but-”

She holds up a hand, cutting Dean off. “It’s between you and Sam. Not gonna throw you out or anything.” She’s gracious enough to get them both another beer, but Dean’s still wet and Sam’s still a huge, sweat-inducing presence next to him but Ellen’s blessing, or whatever it is, well… it emboldens Dean. The booze helps, and Sam just smells so fucking  _ nice,  _ so Dean leans right over and inhales, hand in the small of Sam’s back. 

Sam goes ramrod straight, and he just has to pretend that they’re not being watched but fuck, it’s just the same as an alpha claiming his omega in public - you know you don’t get to touch. Dean is really fucking tired of not getting the same treatment, having to be careful - would anybody  _ really  _ want to fuck with them?

“You smell fucking  _ good. _ ” Dean goes higher, nosing behind Sam’s ear, catching Ellen go wide-eyed and turning away out of the corner of his vision. “Nothin’ but alpha.” So it’s not eloquent. Dean doesn’t care.

Sam gets it, taps in on the same “what the hell are they gonna do” mentality, helped by Ellen’s incredibly clear  _ you leave them the fuck alone  _ glare. Good to see someone sticking up for them. Dean puts his hand on Sam’s thigh, sliding down and then up, right where he knows Sam’s the most sensitive, his own mating bite claimed into his skin there forever. Figures, Dean’s is where most anyone can see it if they look close enough, and Sam’s is fucking covered all the time. 

“What are you doin’, Dean?” Sam sounds nervous, but not enough that he’s shoving Dean away. He can’t, really, his scent giving away that he wants this just as badly as Dean does. Dean can’t stop inhaling him, all clean skin and sweat, unable to resist even if he wanted to. God, why did he ever try to deny himself this? Since that first kiss, Dean hasn’t stopped wanting him. He thought maybe it would lose some of its shine but no, not once has he gone back and thought that hey, this wasn’t as good as the last time.

Sam turns just as Dean’s mouth slides over his, catching him in the middle and knowing that they’re doing this in full fucking view of everyone in the bar makes Dean open his mouth further, flaunting the claim that they have over one another. Sam’s right hand holds his face on one side, angling Dean  _ just there,  _ tongue sliding in deeper, moaning softly when Dean pulls back and drags his teeth over Sam’s bottom lip. He’s an easy start, has been since they got their shit together, and that single move is surefire. 

The growl from Sam’s chest makes even Ellen hurry past them, and Dean can’t stop the grin from breaking out across his face. That was a cheap shot, getting Sam riled up but now he’s unmistakably horny, and his arms look really fucking incredible. Seriously, he’s been crushing the gym lately, and while Dean is happy to maintain what he’s got, he’s awfully fucking proud of Sam for  _ growing.  _ All of that hard work is paying off, and Dean is the sole beneficiary. 

Were he anyone else, Sam could have his pick. Any omega would  _ throw  _ themselves at his feet, and Sam would never have to go without again but nope, he’d much rather risk the universe blapping them for doing it the wrong way and stick his tongue inside Dean’s mouth over and over again.

Like Dean’s got a problem with that.

“That was dirty,” Sam says, picking up his beer and drinking the rest in a long pull. “And you’re gonna leave a spot on Ellen’s barstool.” He licks his lips again, and yeah, Dean knows that look. Means he’s about to get fucked and filled up, and chances are Sam’s knot is already starting to swell. He loves that he can get Sam from zero to a hundred, just like that, ready to rut and take and mark Dean up.

Presenting doesn’t come quite as naturally to Dean as it would an omega, but he can certainly bend his alpha to preen and show off his hole when he wants. The growl Sam lets out when he does that - goddamn  _ music.  _ Sam’s a temptation far too great to resist, and just to make sure Sam is where Dean wants him to be, he reaches out and slides his hand up his chest until he’s got his fingers over the side of Sam’s neck. 

The bar is fucking silent.

All Dean picks up is his and Sam’s breathing, because this is guaranteed ass-kicking territory right here, going anywhere near an alpha’s airways. Sam leans in crowds Dean up against the bar, jamming a thigh between his already spread legs, knocking over their empty beer bottles. Dean can feel the anticipation in the air, everyone waiting for Sam to rip his throat out because that’s fucking  _ not allowed,  _ all this touching. 

“Somethin’ you want,  _ alpha _ ?” Dean licks the word across Sam’s mouth, begging with every cell in his body for Sam to take him. Sam’s eyes are dark, almost black, shot through with just the barest slivers of light, licking the column of Dean’s throat before he pulls Dean flush to him by the belt loops.

“You,” Sam growls, hauling Dean towards the side door. “Got a problem with that?”

Dean bites his lip again, growling back. “Nope.”

Sam throws a look at Ellen, gesturing at the crowd behind them. “Gonna grab some air with my brother - make sure no one disturbs us?” He doesn’t leave much room for disagreement in his tone, and fuck  _ all  _ if that doesn’t do it for him, Sam taking fucking charge so that he can Dean can do whatever the fuck they want. End goal is getting Sam to knot him up, but whatever happens along the way - that’s the best fucking part.

The back lot of the Roadhouse is dark, light only spilling towards the very near edge from the parking lot. It’s all gravel, crunching under their feet, heading for the relative shelter of the outbuilding. For a moment, Dean considers redirecting them to the Impala, parking it away from the lights but Sam’s on a mission - doesn’t matter where, Dean decides. He knows what the fuck he’s doing, and Dean’s going to trust him.

It doesn’t hurt so much as take him by surprise when Sam pushes him up against the wood-sided building, Sam going right for his throat. “Christ, Dean, though we were dead back there.” He licks his pulse point, sucking marks into his jaw and join of his windpipe. “Was fuckin’ hot.”

“You goddamn started it, Sammy.” Dean’s got his hands under Sam’s shirt, pulling at his hips, jeans riding so fucking low they may as well not be on him at all. “Runnin’ that fucking mouth again.”

“This one?”

Sam swoops and lifts Dean’s shirt, fist balling his shirt up just under Dean’s chin as he sucks at his right nipple. Dean moans, cock throbbing in his jeans, accepting that he’s just going to have to endure the torture for now. It’s not  _ really  _ torture, but Dean’s wound up just by Sam being Sam, getting overpowered and manhandled because Sam fucking  _ can,  _ shoulders broad and built as a goddamn marine, hands just  _ moving  _ Dean where he wants him to go. He fucking loves that, letting Sam take over and all he has to do is enjoy, taking a backseat to thinking and just getting to  _ feel. _

“Don’t know what you mean,” Sam says, getting back to Dean’s mouth and giving him another soul-burning kiss. God,  _ every time,  _ every time they kiss, and Dean can’t stop wanting more. “ _ Pretty boy. _ ”

Dean growls, trying his hardest to suck Sam’s tongue down his throat. “You knew what that would do to me.” Dean wants to feel offended, degraded, but when it rolls off of Sam’s tongue, there’s nothing behind it but sincerity, filth laced with the faith that Dean’s going to react how he wants him to. “You have any idea how much I hated that ‘til you said it?”

Sam laughs, mouth open and breath hot against Dean’s ear. “Cause you are, Dean.  _ My  _ pretty boy.”

He’s going to die, right here against this dirty wall, and Sam’s fucking mouth is going to be the cause. Heart stopped, just like that, because he can’t shut off his filthy words, knowing that Dean eats each and every one up. 

“ _ Sammy. _ ” 

It’s part warning, part urge for him to continue, grinding slow against Sam’s hips. They’re both hard as steel, Sam feeling like he’s going to rip right through his jeans if Dean doesn’t help him out soon. His mouth waters for the taste of more, Sam’s tongue a pretty poor substitute for the rest of what he wants. There’s been enough time between now and the last time Dean went down on him that his mouth is watering for it, the heavy, salty musk of Sam’s skin and the ache his cock makes him feel in his jaw as he stretches his mouth.

They’re both going to be vulnerable as hell, but Dean’s still got enough whiskey in him to make him care a little less about caution than he should. Sam’s knot time has stayed the same the whole time they’ve been mated, but out here it’s going to seem even longer, joined up and unable to do a damn thing but let nature take its course. Whatever - they’ll handle it.

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s throat and tilts his head up, no pressure to choke but just enough to hold his attention. “Pretty, pretty boy, just beggin’ to be messed up.” He kisses him, slow and dirty, all tongue and wicked intent. “Waitin’ to get fucked, bet that cunt is  _ dripping  _ right now.”

Dean would let out a squeak, or a moan, or  _ something  _ but Sam’s completely fucked his ability to do anything other than kind of nod, kissed again and he swears he’s slid up the wall, just a little bit, moved by nothing other than Sam’s hands on his body. “Want…” Christ, he’s got nothing on Sam, his brain switched off and his body willing. “Wanna be your pretty boy, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam kisses him, another one of an infinite supply. “Tell me what you want.” He gets closer, if it were possible, whispering in Dean’s ear. “Tell me what my pretty boy  _ needs. _ ”

Dean can’t make words happen - is it possible that he can be blamed right now? - so he reaches for Sam’s cock, cupping him through his jeans and even through thick denim, he’s hot enough to make Dean feel like he’s burning.

Sam groans, thrusting into Dean’s palm, kissing him hard enough to bruise. “‘S hard for you, Dean, hard for my pretty boy.” God, the way those words roll off of Sam’s tongue, he can’t help but sink to his knees, moving so that he’s pressed hard against the wall and Sam’s cock is right at eye level. The musk rolling off of him is already intoxicating, saturating the air around them - if they aren’t heard, their scent is definitely going to be picked up by anyone paying the  _ slightest  _ amount of attention inside. Dean shoves all that aside, watches as Sam’s fingers work at getting his belt undone, barely unzipped before Dean’s pressing his face to his crotch and  _ inhaling. _

He’s so fucking strong smelling, and Dean’s giving him just enough room to finish pulling his jeans down, tugging until his cock is free; Sam’s gone smokeless, nothing between him and the outside world but his fucking pants. Good, that’s always how it should be, the most access Dean can have to him. He’s hard, so, so goddamn hard, cock swinging out and bouncing just a little, right at Dean’s mouth. Sam’s got a fucking  _ gorgeous  _ cock, even by alpha standards, his head as thick as his shaft and mushroom shaped, perfect for fucking Dean open and dragging the mess out when he’s done. Dean sticks his tongue out and catches the fat, silvery drop of precome leaking from his slit, huge just like the rest of him, perfect for breeding Dean up until he’s on the verge of passing out.

“This what you needed, Dean?” Sam cups the bottom of Dean’s head, guiding him to his cock, feeding it into Dean’s mouth with the other. “Love it when you get desperate for it, shit.” Sam’s eyes stay locked on Dean’s mouth, watching himself disappear and the moment he’s past his lips, Dean switches his brain off. He loves this, the tight, too-much pressure of Sam filling his mouth, always enough to leave Dean feeling it for hours after. He’s salty, dark, and as Dean buries his nose in his untrimmed pubes (only once had Sam dared to ask if he should shave them, and the growl that Dean had responded with was enough to make Sam drop the razor) he slips into that special little nirvana, the one for just him and his mate.

Dean hums, starting slow, existing for nothing and no one else. He’s got Sam’s massive fucking cock in his mouth, spit dripping down his chin and his ass leaking slick into his underwear, yeah, he’s doing fucking  _ great.  _ Sam moans, curses,  _ love how my cock looks in your mouth, pretty boy, stuffing you full, that’s it, be greedy, Dean be as greedy as you fuckin’ want  _ and God, he is, he is his pretty boy, Sam’s goddamn  _ pretty boy.  _ He’s been told a million times he’s got dick sucking lips, fuck you, no I don’t except he does, perfect for Sam, and Sam only.

He doesn’t want to make him come, just wants to live with the taste and scent of his brother in his mouth for a while, something to take to bed, when they get to it. No, he wants Sam to knot him, wants to howl and scream into the night wind with the sharp, hard thrusts that Sam lets him have after they’ve been drinking, numbed just enough to be rougher with each other than normal.  _ Harder, Sammy, c’mon, fuck my mouth -  _ except Sam does nothing of the sort, all Dean’s show now. He could stay right fucking here, knees aching on the shallow concrete foundation, Sam’s cock splitting his jaw and not apologizing for any of it.

Dean gets his hands between his legs, frees his own cock. The smell of his own arousal wafts up and yeah, Sam doesn’t make as big a deal of Dean’s scent as Dean does his, but he can still feel the shift in Sam’s stance as he smells him, the tang of slick making him pull his cock out of his mouth, Dean gagging for air, hauling him to his feet and kissing him  _ hard.  _ Dean opens his mouth, lets Sam lick and lick, eating Dean and himself up. Dean grunts, one of Sam’s stupid big hands on him, jerking his cock, making his knot pop, easy as anything, precome slicking his fingers. Strokes and twists and snarls his tongue with Dean’s, barely controlling any of it - and Dean needs him to lose it, needs him to flip him around and slam fuck him full. He’s ready, jeans working their way to his knees, slick hot and then cooling as the sluggish breeze wraps around them. 

“Sam, quit fuckin’ around.” Dean will move this along, nearly growling, and Sam just chuckles, mouths  _ desperate cock slut  _ against Dean’s ear and yeah, he fucking is, he’s  _ Sam’s,  _ nothing but Sam’s. Whatever he wants him to be in that moment. God, Dean’s horny, fucked up on goddamn alpha pheromones and Sam’s idiotically hot mouth, spouting whatever dirty shit comes to his mind, just to wind Dean up even more.

Sam slides in with a yielding push, Dean’s body opened up all on its own and once he’s in he reaches down, right between Dean’s thighs and under his balls, coating his fingers in the slick that comes so easily now. He brings his fingers up to Dean’s mouth,  _ clean ‘em, pretty boy  _ and shit, Dean does, sucking and sucking as Sam fucks him, fast and deep, just like Dean loves it best. Sam’s a monster, one arm wrapped around Dean’s stomach, holding Dean right  _ there  _ and the other on his cock, giving to Dean as good as he’s getting. Dean’s shirt is plastered to him with sweat, not in the least bit helped by the massive furnace that’s Sam, making him sweat so much his muscles feel heavy.

“Take it so good for me, Dean, just waitin’ for my knot.” A bite to the back of his ear, sharp, glorious, making Dean squirm and fuck back against him. He can feel Sam starting to catch, stretching his rim, both of them high enough on pleasure that it’s not going to take long. Dean’s balls feel like they’re churning, full of spunk, just the same as Sam’s. Too damn long since they’ve been drained, and Dean thinks about something they tried once. Sam had got him a fake omega ass, giving him something to breed while Sam bred him and fuck, it had been hot as shit but nothing like Sam’s fingers wrapped around him and making his come go everywhere, completely unable to help the mess because his prostate had been abused. 

They’re loud and getting louder, Sam growling into Dean’s shoulder, faster, less coordinated, both of them going over the edge hand in hand. Dean’s so hard he hurts, Sam’s fingers noisy where they slide his precome all over, bumping his knot, trying to catch the circle of Sam’s fingers, only they won’t stay and hell, Dean doesn’t miss it all that much, being buried in a tight omega hole; the full-body high of getting fucked by Sam is so, so much better, filled up, fucked up, best damn thing he’s ever experienced. Sam rocks forward, no space left between them and Dean feels his knot  _ hold,  _ coming and coming deep inside him, teeth sunk into Dean’s shoulder. 

“C’mon, Dean, come for me.” Sam’s hand hasn’t stopped and Dean’s just too caught up in enjoying Sam but he’s close, so fucking close, and he bears his neck, Sam taking the hint,  _ come for me, pretty boy, pretty fucking alpha  _ and Dean blows. He comes all over the wall, Sam’s hand, leaving his mark until he’s wrung dry. It’s so much, too much, even, all that alpha scent concentrated in one spot, sensory overload if there ever was one. 

Ellen’s word is only going to keep them safe for so long, but Dean’s full of cock and it’s really all that matters. He comes down slowly, breathing with Sam, knotted up and happy. “You’re a fuckin’ menace,” Dean croons, and Sam laughs again, deep in his chest.

“You love it,” Sam says, his alpha pleased for the moment, just as Dean’s. “And if it really did upset you, uh… I can keep it to this one time.”

Dean straightens, Sam still very much inside him but hell, he wants to see Sam’s face more. “Nah. Not so bad coming from you.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re full of my knot.”

“Then I’d say it worked, wouldn’t you?”

Sam kisses him again, another in an infinite spread, like the touch of starlight right on Dean’s mouth.

It’s about as close to perfection as Dean thinks he’s ever going to get.


	2. Chapter 2

“C’mon Sammy, hand ‘em over.”

Sam looks at Dean in the scummy mirror, watching him rummage through the pile of discarded clothing on the floor. Why Dean bothers to tell him when he’s already got his laundry in hand, Sam can’t answer for. Dean’s used to taking what he wants anyway, why should laundry day be any different?

“Uh..help yourself.” Sam’s still in his towel, Dean already dressed. Not in his usual jeans, down to his rattiest t-shirt and a pair of sweats that don’t stand to last that much longer, good for little else other than pajamas. Sam watches how they stretch over his ass when Dean bends over to stuff Sam’s dirty clothes in the bag he’s already filled, tempted for just a moment before he turns to double check the bruise under his left eye again. It still hurts, and Sam isn’t really up to putting more of that stinking salve on it; he’d much rather just suffer the pain. They had smoked out a demon in Huntsville, Arkansas, and now they’re in Fort Worth, licking their wounds for a couple of days. Sam had gotten hit hard enough that his accelerated healing is still trying to make heads or tails of this. 

It’s a hell of a shiner, and Sam winces when he touches it. Another mark to add to the world’s shittiest collection of battle stars.

“You gonna be leaving the motel while I’m gone?” Dean stops, watching Sam look at himself, concern in his eyes while he pretends to check out Sam’s naked back. “Don’t want you scaring the children.”

Sam would roll his eyes if it didn’t hurt so damn much.

“Not once have I ever scared a kid, Dean.” Sam backs away from the mirror, packing his toothbrush and razor in his dopp bag; the beard he’s sporting badly needed a trim, and Sam had done the best he could without being in constant, screaming agony. “And why are you so gung ho about laundry?”

“Think of it as me time.” Dean grins, moving aside so that Sam can leave the bathroom before him. “You remember what that is, right?”

Sam drops his towel, tossing it in the laundry basket, stretching purely to watch Dean bite his lip. “We had ‘me time’? When?” He needs to get out of this fucking motel, but he can’t do anything about it until Dean comes back with the car. He’s still a little too achey to walk far, and if Dean wants  _ me time,  _ then he’ll let him have it. Even if he’s being fucking weird about their laundry.

Dean gets himself back together, tossing Sam his last clean pair of boxer briefs. “Guess that was before you went and staked your claim on me.” Unconsciously, he touches behind his ear, right where his mating bite is. “You get my point.”

He’s allowed to look now, so Sam does, takes in all of his brother, soft in his worn clothes and leather jacket, never, ever without it, even in the first bloom of spring. He gets up, steps into his underwear and crosses to Dean, leaning down to kiss him. Dean lets the laundry bag slip to one hand, cupping the back of Sam’s head with the other one. They do this a lot, kiss for no other reason than they want to. It shouldn’t be a shock or surprise - Dean is his fucking  _ mate -  _ but the novelty for him still hasn’t worn off. It probably never will.

Dean can be goofy about the laundry all he wants.

“I don’t, but go have fun at the laundromat. I’ll be… around.”

Maybe a little “me time” wouldn’t be a bad idea on his end, either. It probably wouldn’t kill him to let his alpha settle for a while, just to make sure he can function without Dean. It’s strange, how much he yearns to never be out of his presence, and Sam chalks that up to living out of each other’s pockets as much as he does them being mates. Functioning with Dean around has always been easier.

“Yeah,” Dean tells him, brushing his thumb over Sam’s mouth. “I’ll be back in a while.”

He goes, and Sam’s left to himself. He doesn’t feel the need to go looking for another hunt, not while he’s still a giant fucking bruise, and the television in the room doesn’t work. Figures. Sam sighs, idly wondering if the diner across the street could bring him coffee (he thought he at least had a tank and some cut off sweats left but no, Dean left him with exactly this one pair of underwear and the shredded remains of the jeans he’d rode here in. Can’t even leave the room until Dean returns, so he’s stuck with idle hands and a busted television. There’s no internet either, so Sam’s stuck with the current round of books he’s been lugging around. 

He flips through a couple of them but he wants to make his brain work, not engage in distraction. He sits up, chewing the inside of his lip, goes over to Dean’s duffle and rummages through it. He finally finds what he’s looking for, the text they’ve resorted to just calling  _ The Book -  _ which is a hell of a lot easier than its full title, broken down from some  _ very  _ old Old English,  _ The Knight’s Guide to Alphas and their habits, studies from the continent and home.  _ Couldn’t even bother to capitalize the whole thing, so  _ The Book  _ it is.

It’s been a work in progress, translating this cobbled together, putting it gently, mess. There doesn’t seem to be much science behind it, and Dean’s been the one doing most of the work in reading it. The physical sections - their bodies changing - someone had done the work of deciphering long before Dean wound up with it. So far, nothing there that’s come as a shock. Sam’s muscles grew, apparently far more quickly than alphas normally would, Dean’s body chemistry changed in the process to where he fulfills the evolutionary vestige of  _ receiver  _ (an omega, he definitely isn’t) and that’s been about it. It’s the only extensive work Sam’s managed to locate on their… situation.

Back in college, the alpha sex parties, those had been purely about letting off steam. Blow and go, and Sam hadn’t gone but a few times. Never had gotten much further than getting blown, stroking out a load next to another alpha who he never learned the names of. Not exactly like anyone there was doing serious scholarly work, Sam included. Whomever “The Knight” was, so far as Sam could tell, didn’t do much more than wax poetic about how strong alphas were, their scent, all of the other stuff that he and Dean have pretty much figured out all on their own.

Sam wants to know if this is going to stick. If, in ten years, he and Dean are still going to be as close as they are now, dare he think it,  _ happy.  _ The Book, unhelpfully, hasn’t offered anything up in plain English, and Sam would almost rather translate ancient Greek than this stuff, and honestly, Dean was always better at Old English than he was. Could wrap his tongue around it far more quickly, and Sam’s a little envious. 

But they’ve had their hands full, mostly of each other, and Sam’s reasonably sure that reading and understanding more of this is pretty much near the bottom of Dean’s list of current interests. Sam gets that; a lot of their free time has been going into bonding physically, and God, he’s down for that. Every wet dream he had about Dean when he thought it was exactly that, a hopeless, frustratingly hot dream is coming true.

There’s a small, awful part of him that’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

The Knight didn’t say jack shit about it, and Sam’s pissed at a guy that’s been dead for close to nine hundred years.

He’s still translating the same paragraph when Dean comes back a couple hours later, bringing in with him the smell of sunshine-laced sweat and almost sickeningly sweet fabric softener. “You’re folding your own drawers, Sammy.” He kicks the door closed behind him and brings the overfull bag over to the bed, their clothes divided top and bottom, with Sam’s spilling out first.

“So you only like handling them when they’re actually  _ on  _ me.” Sam holds one of his t-shirts to his nose, smelling mostly himself. There’s always going to be a little bit of Dean in them too, because alpha musk gets into fucking  _ everything  _ and well, Sam doesn’t mind it so much, if he’s always aware of him. 

“It’s about what’s in them.” Dean plucks the shirt out of Sam’s hands and sniffs it too, a satisfied growl to show his approval. Sam raises an eyebrow, watches Dean pull it on, and then go on folding laundry like it’s nothing at all.

“You uh, gonna keep that?” Sam feels heat start to nibble at the back of his spine, the plaid just this side of too big on Dean, like it’s going to swallow him up. He’s caught Dean sniffing his boxers before, wears his discarded shirts after sex - but this is a little too blatant and comfortable to just be about wanting something that isn’t carnal.

“For now.” Dean kind of sounds like he’s purring, half humming to himself as he balls up his socks and that’s that, Sam doesn’t say anything further because Dean’s fucking humming and happy and he can’t bring himself to take that away from him. It’s such a simple, wonderful thing, just to listen to Dean be free of worry for a while, and Sam wonders if there’s a more practical way to keep that other than him wearing one of his shirts full time.

Come to think of it, The Knight didn’t go into a lot of detail about that, either.

 

___

 

“What’s the big deal about being here again?”

Sam feels bad lying to his brother, but he needs a more practical solution to Dean’s problem. It’s not really even a problem. A problem would be if their bond was shredded, or if one of them died. Or any other of a million things far less extreme than that, but Dean taking his shirts and constantly wearing them isn’t a problem.

But Sam could really, really do better than that for him, and more of his clothes are in Dean’s duffle now than his own. Which is fine, because when he wears them he smells even more like Dean. His musk is everywhere, even in his fed suit pieces, and that...yeah, Sam’s starting to wonder if he’s ever going to be able to exist without being horny ever again. It’s better than an omega, and ten times as addicting, the way Dean smells. Now that it’s in Sam’s clothes, yeah, he’s going to have to find a solution if he ever wants his cock to stop fucking throbbing just because he happens to breathe a little too deeply.

“Possible haunting,” Sam says. Manassas, Virginia, should have plenty of ghosts hanging around - Civil War battleground and God knows what else - but there hasn’t been reports of activity in the area in a long time now. He had mostly made up the case for being here, and even given Dean a couple of sites for them to check, having the gall to suggest that splitting up might be a good idea. 

Mostly Sam wants to run this little errand by himself, even if it goes tits up. He’s found a leather shop, one that specializes in stuff for alphas and omegas. Harnesses, leggings, collars - Sam’s willing to bet that a collar might help Dean work through whatever it is that Sam thinks Dean doesn’t know he’s even going through. It’s almost unconscious, the way Dean keeps taking his shirts and wearing them over his own, too big through the shoulders and long in the sleeves. They make Dean look, well,  _ small.  _ Sam isn’t used to that, his broad, substantial brother being swallowed up by  _ anything.  _

Dean huffs, looking at the row of shops where Sam is pretending to conjecture there might be something there. The leather shop is further down the strip, and if Dean notices it, he doesn’t say a word. “Thought we’d have a little more to go on than something  _ possible.  _ Concrete evidence, Sammy, that’s what we need.” 

“We’ve gone farther on less,” Sam says. “Let’s meet back here in half an hour and see what we’ve come up with.” He has his pistol loaded with rock salt anyway - more for Dean’s comfort than his own. He tucks it into his waistband and pulls his shirt down, nearly positive that Dean has managed to see his way through his bullshit. Sam offers him as sincere a smile as he can, hand resting on the door handle.

Dean sighs, and for whatever reason, it’s laced with a worry that should be giving Sam more pause than it is. “Half an hour.”

Sam nods, decides against leaning in for a kiss, and waits for Dean to pull back out into traffic before he goes for the leather shop.

The scent of a mated pair hits him a second before the dark, heavy smell of leather does, actual, real stuff, not the faux crap that’s been flaking off of Dean’s boots for the last two weeks. The place is part Old West nostalgia, part kink land; Sam tears his eyes away from the harnesses, with their gleaming metal rings and crossed sections, ten different designs, his mind supplying how fucking good Dean would look in each and every one of them.

Agreeing Dean into a harness is for another day, and the omega - a redhead, tall and lanky with deep blue eyes and a pleased expression at having Sam in his shop - approaches him with the easy confidence of someone who’s been claimed. Single omegas are the big draw, but this guy is covered enough in his mate’s scent that Sam isn’t in the least bit worried about something going on.

“Can we help you find anything?” He stops a respectful couple of feet away from Sam, his expression growing curious as he picks up Sam’s scent - but doesn’t remark on it.

“Uh… I actually called a couple of days ago, about collars. I’m Sam.” He doesn’t offer his hand, and the omega - Brent, Sam remembers, having spoken to him on the phone - doesn’t look like he’s expecting him to. “I wanted to know about doing something custom.”

Brent’s smile perks right back up, cocking his head towards the back of the shop. “Let’s see what Gino is working on.”

The workshop area smells of leather, formaldehyde, and alpha, a heady combination that Sam finds to be weirdly pleasing. Gino looks up, returning the same smile that Brent greeted him with. “Babe, this is Sam - he wants to commission a collar.”

Gino steps from around his bench and hell, he’s gorgeous. The sort of gorgeous that if Sam wasn’t attached to Dean, he’d be trying to see what his chances would be. It’s all hormones of course; alphas are supposed to be beautiful, and Gino has it in spades. Nearly as tall as Sam, olive skin, and dark curly hair pulled back from his face. Sam shoves past reflex and does take his hand when he offers it, feeling no different than he would if he was shaking with a beta.

Huh.

“Brent mentioned you after you got off the phone. Are you looking for something more...casual, for intimacy, or perhaps both.” Gino moves aside and lets Sam pick up some of the leather he was working with, smooth, unblemished, soft and strong. He brings a thick band of black up to his nose, inhaling the unspoiled scent of it. Gino lets him have a moment, and when Sam looks back, he’s got the color picked out.

“My mate, he uh… he likes to…” Sam stops, licks his lips, realizing that it’s really the first time he’s attempted to tell someone about his and Dean’s relationship. “He’s one of a kind, and I feel like there’s more that I could be doing to show him that, and sometimes he gets... needy. Wants to feel wanted, and I do everything I can to satisfy that but it’s… hard to explain. We can’t marry, or anything like that but...I want him to feel that kind of special. So I want something to match that.” 

Sam’s blushing so hard that he’s sweating, and Gino’s looking at him like he understands completely. He doesn’t, because not even Sam does, but the attempt is heartening. “I think I can do that for you, Sam. You like the black?”

He nods, and shows Gino the design he’d picked out for the middle band of it. “He like silver, and if you could do the same thing in a matching - well, like what Brent’s wearing.”

Brent looks at his right arm, a thick brown bracelet hugging his wrist. “They hold scent better than a wedding ring anyway.”

Gino takes Brent’s hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing just below the edge of the bracelet gently. “He’s right, Sam. I can have something ready in a few days, if you’re still going to be in town.”

“We’re probably leaving soon - can I give you an address?” They need to check the P.O. Box in Topeka anyway, and by the time they get back in that direction it should be there. “I’ll pay the extra for it, if you do that.”

Gino waves his hand, but does offer Sam a price. “Just promise to make him feel as special as you described him. He smells incredible, by the way.”

For a moment, Sam thinks Dean has followed him in but nope, it’s just his shirt. He exhales, shaking Gino’s hand again. “I will. Thanks again, and...we might be back for a harness. Depends on how Dean feels.”

Just telling someone his name makes Sam feel a rush of heat down the back of his spine, and right as he walks out, Dean is pulling up.

“Other place was a bust, Sam. Startin’ to think that whatever might have been there is long gone.” Dean sniffs the air, scowling. “Did you touch someone else?”

Sam rolls his eyes and lays his hand on Dean’s thigh. “I shook hands with a shop owner. Ease up.” Sam puts a little alpha behind it, and Dean grunts his defeat.

“Well… fine.” Right as he’s about to lay on the gas, Sam slides over and nips at his neck, growling “you think I’d put another alpha before mine? Not a fucking chance.”

The kiss he gives Dean probably isn’t necessary, but a taste of Sam’s mouth certainly goes a long way to wiping the grumpy expression from his face.

He’s not so hard to satisfy after all, Sam’s finding. 

And he knows Sam means it too, even if they sometimes have to fight hormones to make sure they’re square. So far as Sam’s concerned, a little struggle is always going to be worth it in the end. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean knows better than to go looking through Sam’s personal stuff.

Really, truly, he does but when you’re mated, “personal stuff” loses some of its definition. Hell, he’s been wearing Sam’s shirts more days of the week than not, as much for watching Sam try to control himself as he wants to be surrounded by his scent. Give and take, that’s what it’s about. Sam doesn’t  _ complain,  _ but he gets a big fucking hit of himself mixed with Dean when he stands too close. Yeah, that’s a lot of fun, watching Sam fight against his body to not get hard. He’s a lot of things, but subtle isn’t remotely one of them. Another one in a long line of qualities that Dean can’t help but find massively fun to exploit.

Sam’s...somewhere. Running, getting something to eat, Dean’s not sure. He’ll be back, so it’s not like he’s worried. He knows he should feel guilty for snooping through his laptop, but again, personal space is blurry. It had started out as looking for a case, just something to put them back on the road after their latest rut. He’s itchy with cabin fever, eager to go get bloody and bruised. Not that he didn’t with Sam over the last few days, but still. Whole different ballgame there. 

So far he hasn’t found a damn thing, and that’s irritating. Surely someone must have been burned from the inside out under mysterious circumstances. Maybe in Florida. There’s always  _ some  _ sort of weird shit going down there. He’s scrolling, looking, but he’s not so interested as to be seriously searching. He’s tempted to look through Sam’s browsing history, maybe this will be the one time that he finally catches Sam looking at something he thinks he’s not supposed to. Dean knows damn well he can’t be the only thing that gets Sam’s motor running.

Flattering as it is, but he knows  _ damn  _ well that his brother has kinks. Things he doesn’t even share with Dean.

Already feeling like he owes Sam an apology, he opens the file up and oh, shit  _ yes,  _ Sam wasn’t so careful this time. Link after link is sitting right there, waiting for Dean to explore. He’s going to frame it as getting to know his brother better, just in case in the future, there’s something he wants to try. Seriously. Dean’s down for anything at this point. It’s not like either one of them can run away in case one of them discovers something -  _ taboo.  _ Dean lives with that as a permanent condition.

Some of the stuff he finds doesn’t come as a big surprise. Panties? Hell, that’s basic stuff. Dean’s got a couple of pairs, but never tells Sam when he’s wearing them. Mostly on bar nights, when he lets his jeans dip low and waits for Sam to find it out. The fun part is timing how long it takes Sam to unravel. His record so far is about thirty minutes, and then it’s fucking pound town, with Dean up against a wall and Sam’s knot making his ass gape. Goddamn monster, that’s what Sam turns into when Dean throws on a little lace. Dean’s lost track of if he’s doing it for himself at this point, or if it’s for Sam. Anything to make him feel naughty, another tick in the list of “things alphas shouldn’t do.” Whatever. So far, everything he’s done that an alpha shouldn’t do has left him feeling pleasantly destroyed from inside out. The slick still weirds him out from time to time - not from the nature of it, but just how  _ much  _ there is, especially when he knows he’s got Sam’s attention. Just a single fucking look from him, at the right time, and it’s like the goddamn floodgates have been opened.

Dean browses through them for a while, checks the ones that Sam has saved. He’s got a thing for broad, muscular guys in them, betas mostly, stroking and flexing and ruining their panties with come. Shit’s hot, but nothing Dean hasn’t done before. None of his underwear doesn’t hold at least a little lingering tang of slick, but knowing it’s an active kink for Sam - that helps. Summer’s coming, and sweating into them while turned on, yeah - that’s going to drive Sam  _ wild. _

He picks up his phone, makes sure he’s not missed anything from him; the same blank screen is staring back at him as it was an hour ago, and he continues on his exploration. Sam likes comeshot videos (no surprise there) and more specifically,  _ alpha  _ scenes. That one throws him, but once he’s watched a few, he isn’t surprised anymore. Alphas come with built in fetish devices, between the insane amounts of come, the knots, the rampant, horny-dumb ruts. Dean gets that. He’s not really attracted to any other alphas, save for Sam, and he’s reasonably Sam isn’t either. Not anymore, at least. Maybe it’s a shared experience thing, knowing that other alphas are getting off on...being alphas. There’s a lot of pit sniffing in these, muscles curled and leaking, throbbing dicks. God, yeah, fine, Dean just chubbed the fuck up, because he’s seen Sam do the same fucking thing about a thousand times now. 

Sam quitting deodorant was the single thing that shifted Dean’s need for him from “often” to “constant.” It’s the fucking musk, he swears it is.

Dean ends up getting lost down the rabbit hole for a while, sifting through video after video, the fucking jackpot being a compilation that’s just all pits and tits, body hair glorified and knots given the spotlight. He ends up nearly drooling, wishing he had Sam there just so he could mouth at his goddamn cock through his jeans. Sammy loves that shit, loves it when Dean teases and denies, right up until he can’t take it anymore and with an insanely hot growl just throws Dean back against whatever solid surface is available at the time and shoves his cock in his mouth. He’s a perfect fucking gentleman, right up until Dean shows him the pink of his mouth or hole. 

It’s not that Sam is hiding anything - it’s just who he is. Two equal parts, and some days, Dean loves the toppy alpha, rut-stupid part of him a little more. Instinct, lust, need - they all take over, and Sam gets to stop worrying for a while. All he has to do is fuck Dean, and hell if that’s not always enough to shatter Dean’s world down to its most fundamental parts. More often than not, Dean needs that kind of hard reset. They both do.

Dean explores deeper, following the “you’ve watched” train backwards, right up until he’s faced with, well, something unexpected. It’s another alpha, yeah, but there’s an omega with him. He’s giving him the blowjob of his life, the alpha moaning, growling, nothing Dean isn’t already used to from Sam. Sam’s fucking mouth runs the deeper into it he gets, and it’s fucking hot every time. He’s watching, on the edge of his seat, rubbing at his cock through his jeans - right until the omega pulls back and the alpha pisses all over his face, growling and moaning all at the same time, and Dean’s jaw drops. His dick throbs hard enough that he thinks he’s about to come in his pants, rewinds, and watches it happen again.

And it’s not the only one like it Sam’s watched.

There are too many for Dean to count. Like, way to many. Omegas getting soaked, alphas pissing on themselves - it doesn’t end. Dean’s brain should be shutting this off, tuning it out, but fuck, the alpha always looks so goddamned  _ pleased  _ with themselves after they’ve done it, like they just-

Shit.

It’s marking their territory. 

Sam, in all likelihood, wants to do that to Dean. Fuck, that shouldn’t be hot. Shouldn’t even be something alphas consider doing with other alphas, and much less, Dean shouldn’t be fucking imagining it. Sam coming on and in him is one thing, and most of the the time, that second load ends up on Dean’s face. He doesn’t mind so much, just the fucker gets it in his eye sometimes. Can’t be helped, with those massive fucking bull nuts producing what they do. Sam always licks whatever he dumps on Dean’s face off, so there’s at least  _ some  _ consideration for him.

He’s gotten so into watching Sam’s porn that he doesn’t register the sound of the lock turning, quickly accompanied by the sun-warmed musk of Sam’s body as he steps into the room and there he is, filling the doorway and lugging boxes of ammo in one hand and a six pack in the other, tank-top dark with sweat at the chest and mouth open to speak to Dean, only to immediately fixate on where his hand is rubbing at his bulge.

“I can come back, if you…” Sam stops, listens, realizes what Dean is watching, based on what he’s hearing from the laptop’s speaker. “ _ Dean, what’s that?” _

Dean licks his lips, not guilty so much for being caught, but for learning something about Sam that his brother, in all likelihood, never would have admitted to in the light of day. “Uh… nothing you ain’t seen before.”

Sam drops whatever he’s holding and is across the room in a moment, right as the alpha on screen is pissing all over his omega’s face (of course Sam has a thing for mated pairs) and the look of sheer, utter horror in his eyes make Dean’s heart split, shame burning on Sam’s cheeks as he scoops up his laptop and snaps it shut hard enough to probably damage the screen. “You… Dean, swear to God, stay out of my shit.” He shoves the computer in his bag and growls, doing a spectacularly bad job of not looking at where Dean’s hand is still laying on his bulge.

“Sammy…”

“No. This - you weren’t… Dean, just forget you saw it, okay? It’s…” Sam scrubs a hand over his face and nearly trips trying to get to the bathroom, looking like he’s going to be sick. Christ, is that how he feels? Dean gets up and follows him, stopping short of the bathroom when Sam growls again, wiping his face with a damp washcloth.

He waits, letting Sam calm down, aching for him. He’s so goddamn sexy, even when he looks like he’s been kicked in the gut, the shame he thinks he should be feeling making him look smaller. Softer. All this big, alpha-strong, room-filling assertiveness, and here he is, scared out of his mind because Dean knows him a little more now. Why wouldn’t he want to be acquainted with this part of Sam?

“Sam, listen to me.” Dean chances a step closer, so close he can see the fine details of the curls sticking to Sam’s neck. “You think that’s gonna scare me off, knowing what you’re into?” Sam looks at him in the mirror, not yet meeting his eyes - but he’s paying attention. “Baby boy, that shit stays between us. No one else. It’s not dirty, or bad, not to me.”

“You don’t think that if I did that to you, you wouldn’t rip my throat out?” Sam straightens, his hands shaking. “Christ, Dean, they give those guys downers before they do a scene, just so they don’t go feral. I looked it up, they… Dean, I wouldn’t want to hurt you, okay? Not because of… that.”

Dean sighs, getting close enough to rub Sam’s forearms. “You think this is what ends it, huh?” God, his musk is fucking  _ intoxicating,  _ sweating enough that Dean can see some of his pit hair curling out from under his left arm. “Sam, you’re an idiot sometimes. All that brain power, and you think that just because you’re into piss play I’m gonna hit the road?” Dean leans in, cups the back of Sam’s head and draws him down, Sam’s lips parting almost immediately for Dean’s tongue, needing as much reassurance as Dean can give him in that moment. “In case you didn’t notice, you got me all horny for it.”

Sam shies away, but Dean doesn’t miss where he looks down at his crotch, precome staining his jeans where the tip is. “Still think it’s a bad idea.” When he meets Dean’s eyes again, he’s still trying to hide himself. Dean doesn’t like that, not one bit.

“What if… what if I told you I wanted to be marked like that? That way everyone knows, Sammy, everyone knows I’m fuckin’  _ yours.”  _ Playing it up to Sam’s instincts is a cheap and dirty shot, but he’s clearly into it enough that it’s not a passing fantasy. This is a full blown kink, and Sam has indulged enough of Dean’s that he wants to make this good for him. “You know you want to, Sammy. Want to mark up your  _ pretty boy. _ ”

Throwing that term around is like tossing a live grenade back and forth, and if Sam wasn’t on board before, he is now.

Sam’s alpha growls, clearly pleased with the idea, even if the rest of him is still unsure. Dean reaches down, rubs Sam’s cock through his jeans, if anything, wanting to get him out just to bury his face in his pubes. Warm day like this? Yeah, Sam’s musk is strong enough that Dean’s hole just started to drip - and giving Sam head is  _ never  _ a problem.

“Am kinda thirsty,” Sam admits, and Dean lets him go with a satisfied little grin, going back out into the room and getting a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. Uncaps it for Sam, hands it off and watches him drink, throat bobbing, some of it spilling down his chin and mixing with the sweat on his neck and chest. Dean bites his tongue, lets Sam finish the bottle and then he’s handing him another one, drained just as fast as the other.

Dean closes in again, pushing Sam back towards the bed. Sam goes down easy, letting Dean take the lead more than he usually does. “One thing’s gonna happen for sure, Sammy. Gonna get this massive, incredible alpha cock out, and I’m gonna drain you dry. Anything that happens during that? Just let it happen. Can be our little secret, Sammy, how’s that sound?”

Sam tries to reply, swallowing and chewing his lip,  _ our little secret  _ the ammunition Dean needed. Little fucker always did like that, having something what was just theirs and no one else’s. They hid a lot of stuff from Dad, like when Dean bought him skin mags, did nothing but wink and tell him to enjoy, or Sam managed to get his hands on a joint from one of his soccer teammates. Same thing, same code, only there’s no one around for them to catch them.

Dean slinks to the floor, pushing up Sam’s shirt and kissing his belly, licking his abs so that he can coat his tongue with the salty musk of Sam’s body. He swirls his tongue through his navel, marveling at how fucking low his jeans ride because Sam’s all long, muscled torso, the goddamn defiance of it against his long, lean legs too fucking much to do anything but marvel at. His brother’s proportions are a violent flagrance of what should be, but God, Dean’s hard for it. Hard for his alpha, every goddamn thing about him. 

Sam obediently lifts his hips when Dean unbuckles his belt and lowers his jeans, pulling them down over his ass, taking his boxer briefs with them. It’s better when Sam doesn’t wear any underwear whatsoever, but it gives Dean something to bury his face in later. He doesn’t sneak it out from the tangle of denim, not yet. 

“Hey, you too. Off.” Sam sits up, cock lying heavy and fat against his stomach. Dean stands up, strips his t-shirt off and tosses it backwards, drops his cut off sweats and the boy shorts that he’d mistaken for boxer briefs that morning. The scent of his own arousal hits him full force, instinct telling him to mount up and just sink down on Sam’s cock - but he’s got another purpose here, and once he’s back between his legs, he’s fine. Looks up at Sam from under his dark lashes, making no pretense of teasing. He’s swallowing the head and as much of Sam’s shaft as he can all in one go, and for whatever reason, Sam feels even bigger today. 

He hums, and Sam’s hands find their way into Dean’s hair. Good. Whatever Sam needs to do to keep himself here, to keep from getting scared off by his own wants. Dean can work with that, opening his throat up and swallowing until nothing else exists but the salty, musky heat of Sam’s cock in his mouth, bobbing his head in lazy, unhurried motion. He’s going to give Sam the time he needs to get comfortable, perfectly content to stay down here for as long as he needs. He reaches up, presses his fingers to the space just under Sam’s balls, letting his pinky stray down to brush Sam’s hole. Sam moans, spreads his legs wider, his balls loose and full. 

“Dean,” he breathes, and Dean isn’t going to stop to try and interpret what all’s in that one syllable. He tugs at Sam’s balls, comes up so that one head is on the shaft still and he can stroke Sam’s foreskin up and down in his mouth. Dean tongues his slit, rewarded with a steady, continual flow of precome, just like a fucking tap. Sam moans again, another scratchy  _ Dean  _ coming from his lips, shaking like he’s unable to keep control of himself much longer.

Dean takes his hand from Sam’s balls and rests it low on his stomach, watching as Sam’s eyes go wide again. He’s gunshy, that’s for sure, so Dean presses down, just a little bit. Sam tenses, pure reflex, cock getting thicker in Dean’s mouth. He backs off, licking up the bottom of his cock, tracing the long, curving vein that goes up the left side. Sam shudders, arching against nothing but the flat of Dean’s tongue and mouth. His thighs quiver, utterly bound up in the effort to contain himself.

“Need...fuck, Dean, need to go.” Sam licks his lips, sweating even harder and he’s so, so beautiful, scared that Dean trusts him, scared of what might happen. Dean licks down to his balls and closes his eyes, pressing harder still, and a single, shattery  _ shit,  _ followed by warmth, a trickle until Sam’s body can’t hold on any further. Dean leans back, sticking his face right under the stream, letting it arc up and fall over him, over his head, down his face, covering him until he smells nothing but Sam. Sam grunts, soaking Dean until he finally has nothing left, the carpet even more stained now but hell, Dean doesn’t give a shit, goes right back to sucking Sam’s cock, covered in his piss and sweat.

“Mine,” Sam growls. “ _ Mine. _ ” 

Dean looks up, smirking. “Damn right, Sammy, no one’s but yours.” He’s so goddamn hard he hurts - but he has to get Sam there first. His knot is huge, and Dean aches for not being filled but hell, Sam’s fragile enough as it is. No need for Dean to get greedy too. 

He goes back to tugging Sam’s balls, pulling and milking, listening to Sam’s cries get louder and louder. He’s close, knows he fucking is, and Dean can’t stop him coming too much longer, pushing him higher and higher until come rockets out of him, nailing Sam square in the face - Dean swallows the rest, feels Sam’s knot try to take, moves just in time so that he doesn’t get his air supply cut off completely. It’s endless, the way Sam comes sometimes, and the minute he’s done he pulls his cock out of Dean’s mouth and pisses on him again, moaning even more loudly. Dean opens his mouth, letting it splash against his tongue and run down his body, stroking himself so fast that it should probably hurt.

“Dean, fuck, I...  _ fuck. _ ” Sam strokes fast and hard, throwing his head back to roar through a second orgasm, locked in and Dean takes that moment to stand, straddling Sam’s hips to sink himself down on Sam’s cock, catching the last of his orgasm inside to make it a picture-perfect creampie. Sam snarls, slams up into Dean’s ass, just once, and Dean blows all over Sam’s body, hair getting sticky with come until he’s near collapse. Sam’s knot is right where he fucking wants it, lodged deep, riding him through the aftershocks.

“Shit, Dean, that…  _ fuck. _ ” Sam’s fucking  _ grinning,  _ pleased with either himself or Dean, he’s not sure - but he’s happy, shaking with it, and it’s not so hard for Dean to take his still hard cock and aim it at Sam’s open mouth, knowing an instant before to hold still when Dean returns the favor, pissing all over Sam’s face and chest. He tilts his head back, letting it coat his neck, soaking the bed and sheets under them - and of fucking course it’s a king, no other bed to collapse into. 

It’s the best fucking piss of Dean’s life, and he knows it won’t be the last. Sam rocks forward, kissing Dean with a hunger that takes them both by surprise. He bites past Dean’s lips, shoving his tongue deep, licking whatever he can get from what feels like Dean’s tonsils. 

“You’re a nasty fuckin’ sort of bastard, Sam.” Dean pushes him back down, pins Sam’s arms to lick his piss-soaked pits. “Fuckin’ love it.”

“Consider yourself partly responsible.” Sam groans, raising his hips for Dean to tuck his feet under them - whatever it was they had planned for the afternoon is good and shot, and they both know it.

“Nah - this was all you.” Dean kisses him again, pleased with just how Sam’s loosened up since he walked in the room. “Can’t say I hate it.”

“Good, because your ass might by the time I’m done with you.”

Rolling around and getting fucked in your own piss?

Dean’s pretty sure that the rating scale for how good it is is fucking broken.


	4. Chapter 4

Rolling through Kansas always leaves this weird, nostalgic pull in Sam’s chest. Whether it’s for a life that Dad remembered the most, Dean’s told him about, or one that he never really got to experience, he can’t say exactly. They aren’t anywhere near Lawrence, finishing up a case out way down in the southern part of the state - but Sam feels it anyway. A vestigial call to put down roots, maybe let themselves stay out of the line of fire.

Then again, they’ve kind of sucked at making a home of wherever it is they go, and he’d rather have Dean over him than a house and a backyard. Once he thought he did want that, but...only with Dean. 

And it’s not exactly like Dean is checking the listings for places to rent.

They’re a fifteen minute drive from their closest mailbox, and Sam remembers the e-mail he got from Gino the other day - his order was done and sent. He’s pretty sure enough time has passed for it to get there, but… he doesn’t want Dean to know about it, not yet. He still isn’t sure that it’s a good idea, but he’s paid up, and he isn’t going to let Gino’s hard work go to waste. 

“Any special requests?” Sam’s putting his shoes on, finally showered and dressed after way too few hours of sleep, and they both need breakfast. Dean’s still clutching his pillow, grunting a muffled  _ just so long as there’s coffee  _ out. Dean had been whacked hard the day before, and it had been a feverish night staying up to make sure he wasn’t concussed or worse. Sam’s the one that had killed the thing, only to find evidence that their might be another one. Goddamn black dogs. Sam hates them, just as much as the hellhounds they’ve been cutting up intermittently over the last few months. 

Dean had confessed he was this close to making a deal, some hare-brained shit to get Dad back. Sam had snarled, growled, begged - don’t do it. I’m not letting hell get you, Dean. Never.

So yeah, Sam has reasonable cause to be scared to death of them. It’s bad enough when one of a mated pair dies - their mate doesn’t normally make it long after that. He and Dean are a special enough case, and to lose him like that… Sam doesn’t even want to think about it.

Sam finishes lacing up his boots, looking at Dean in the bed behind him. The blankets are pulled down to the middle of his back, the bruises and lacerations still alarmingly fresh. He starts to reach for them, only for Dean to roll over and grab his hand.

“Sam… I’m okay. Promise. Just need a little more rest.” He tries for a grin, hiding the wince it causes him. Sam sighs, leaning in for a kiss that Dean tries to return a little too enthusiastically.

“You’re a bad liar.” Sam sits back up, pulls the covers back up over Dean. “I’ll be back soon.”

Dean hums, and is out again before Sam’s left the room.

The town of Chipden is just beginning to wake up, so Sam’s drive to their mailbox is uncrowded. There’s no one else inside the post office when he walks in, and muscle memory rather than the numbers helps him get their box open. Only one thing fills the space, the plain brown box bearing Gino’s address and brand stamp. Sam takes it out, goes back to the Impala and opens the box with his pocket knife, the smell of freshly worked leather greeting him before he’s even finished splitting the tape.

Sam really hadn’t gotten the chance to explore much of Gino’s work when he was there, but this goes so, so far above and beyond what he had been expecting. The detailing he had chosen, a mix of Sanskrit and Latin, an ancient mantra of peace and belonging, wraps around the collar’s circumference in perfect proportion, starting and ending right at the clasp. Sam traces it with his fingers, wiping his eyes because this is special,  _ for Dean.  _

He picks up the bracelet too, a thick, leather band, etched with the same mantra. The silver debossing is even more eye catching here, faintly luminous where it picks up details of the breaking sun. Sam puts it on his right wrist, the fit snug from how new the leather is. There’s a note in the bottom of the box, written in what has to be Brent’s delicate handwriting.

_ Sam, _

_ Gino and I had a lot of discussion over just how to make these for you, and wanted to say we felt it was worth the extra time it took to get to you. This particular kind of leather traps scent very well, and won’t fade over time. A week down your shorts - Gino’s experience, not mine - and whomever he is, they won’t soon be forgetting you.  _

_ Enjoy these, Sam, _

_ Gino & Brent. _

Sam swallows, looking up to keep the tears from falling. He’s really going to do this, isn’t he, collar Dean? It’s fucked up, something he damn well knows. Nothing that he and Dean do should be allowed, much less for it to have gone on as long as it has. Pissing on each other should not have been nearly as hot as it was, and in the times they’ve done it since, well… Sam’s gotten off so hard his balls ache. Another notch in the post of “fucked up shit that should have us killing each other.” 

But it’s  _ their  _ fucked up.

He picks up the collar, wondering exactly how he’s going to keep the thing in place, but if it means Dean smelling his musk even more strongly when he wears it, a couple hours a day wouldn’t kill him. In a crowded room, their scent is the first thing they go by to find each other. Sam certainly doesn’t expect Dean to wear it full time, or even often - just when he wants to. 

Dean deserves way more than one of his old shirts, and probably more than a collar - but it’s what he can do. Sam unbuttons his jeans and pushes the collar down into the front, tucking it next to his cock. As big as he is, he’s already wearing extra roomy boxer trunks anyway, and he finds that it doesn’t take up  _ that  _ much room. Even walking into the diner for a couple of sausage biscuits and large coffees doesn’t reveal itself to be terribly uncomfortable, even if he does have to step a little more carefully than normal.

Dean is sitting up when Sam comes back, perking when he sees the greasy bag and extra sugars that Sam had brought with him for the coffee. “My hero,” Dean says, taking the bag and placing it in his blanket covered lap. “Jelly?”

“In the bag - man, putting grape jelly on a sausage biscuit, it’s a crime.” Sam takes his without any extra affectations, turning away so he doesn’t have to actually watch Dean eat it.

“As much of your come’s gone inside me, Sammy, I’m probably close enough to knocked up to crave this shit anyway.” 

Thank God Sam hadn’t actually had anything in his mouth, because he’s guaranteed to have choked on it.

Whatever.

Dean’s breakfast choices are still  _ weird. _

It doesn’t stop Sam from pumping a load in him over the bathroom sink an hour later anyway.

___

 

Sam never thought that avoiding getting ketchup on five hundred year old texts would be all that hard, but the universe (and Dean) are trying their hardest to do that very thing.

The waitress keeps giving them strange looks every time she comes over, Dean helping him translate Sumerian with one hand and eating a stack of cheese fries with the other. It’s one of their working lunches, because their case is moving fast and they don’t have much time to waste. All of the material that Sam has found is positively ancient, and a greasy diner isn’t the place to trot it out but hell, it’s all they have. The library was closed, and Sam really didn’t want to be picked up for breaking and entering, not today. 

“Sammy, is this… a mistranslation, or is the author just bugshit?” Dean slides his legal pad towards him, and hell Sam can’t make heads or tails of it either. Something about an elephant and a “blood drinker.” That… they don’t need those two things to be in the same sentence. Ever.

“Going with bugshit,” Sam says, going back to his own pile of research. Mideastern spirits in the ass-end of Indiana is the absolute last thing they need on their plate right now, but it looks like this is what their case is shaping up to be. Sam sighs, moving on from one page to the next. It doesn’t help that he keeps getting distracted by Dean, sucking the salt from his fingers as he reads and writes, smiling at the waitress, so fucking beautiful that Sam has to keep biting the inside of his cheek to make sure he’s still here. The collar down his pants keeps moving around, and he just has to keep telling himself it’s worth it, just a few more days and he’ll give it to Dean. When he had been getting undressed last night, he’d smelled it, and Gino was right; the thing is gonna keep his scent trapped in it forever.

Dean had asked about the bracelet, and Sam had given him an explanation about how “some guy was selling them near the diner, and I kinda liked this one.” He had let it drop, but ever since he put it on, he’s felt Dean fidgeting with it on his wrist, touching it, taking a whiff of it when Sam takes it off at the end of the day. Scent has become so powerful for them, a whole, integrated part of their relationship with each other. He knows that it still freaks people out, when they’re seen together - but two alphas who touch each other, much less do it continually, is enough of a big fat “stay back” that looks are really all they get.

Because who the hell is going to pick a fight with them?

The door to the diner opens and brings with a strong gust of breeze. Sam watches their papers go flying and it’s a scramble to catch them all before they get scattered and stepped on. Sam leans down, turning sideways in the booth and fuck,  _ fuck,  _ it’s a mistake, the clasp on the collar catching him at the exactly wrong time and pinching his nutsack, right below the base of his cock - the yelp he lets out is enough to make Dean sit up and regard him with concern.

“Zipper trouble,” Sam grits out, and he’s out of there, heading for the bathroom. Every time he moves it just hurts even worse, and when he bursts into the restroom he’s shoving his jeans down out of the way, yanking the collar out of his underwear and rubbing at the spot where it got him, only to realize a moment later he’s not alone and he has his cock out in full view of the alpha standing at the sink washing his hands.

“Uh…” Sam looks at the collar he just laid on the sink, then to the alpha again. “Fucker jabbed me in the nuts.” Sam turns around to tuck himself away, grabbing the collar and making sure the clasp is pointed away from any further sensitive spots.

“Things we do for love, right?” He finishes up, drying his hands. “He’s handsome by the way, saw you when you came in. Big for an omega, isn’t he?”

Sam rolls his eyes and washes his own hands, covered in grease and his own musk now. “Yeah well… he’s a special case. Always has been.” The other alpha nods, and alright, Sam can appreciate the confidence with which he approached him. He’s handsome, refined, the sort of alpha who probably picked up his omega young. A sugar daddy if there ever was one, with a little gray at his temples. Probably here because his omega wanted to eat here, just this once.

“Take care of him,” he says, nods at Sam in the mirror and leaves.

It would be so, so much easier to just tell people, they aren’t an alpha and an omega. Stop having assumptions made about them, because Sam is tired of hearing the term  _ your omega is handsome. Pretty.  _ So on and so on. If Dean knew how many people called him that, an omega, he’d be ripping a lot of throats out. Sam deflects for him, and sometimes he really kind of hates how outwardly  _ alpha  _ he is, just so that he could explain the balance. It’s not fair, for them to think that Dean is his submissive, his for breeding and keeping.

But they already have enough to worry about, and Sam’s gotten better about picking the fights they get into these days. He goes back out into the diner, finds Dean still munching on fries, and sits down in the booth across from him again.

“Y’know, with as good of care as you take of yourself Sammy, you’re the last person who ought to be having ‘zipper trouble’ - need me to make sure you didn’t miss anything?” Dean’s eyebrows go up and Sam frowns, putting an end to his brother’s excitement.

“I’m fine, and you need to stop spilling soda all over the place.” Sam wipes Dean’s glass and moves it away from paper that’s already being held together with prayers and not much else, trying to find his place in the text again.

“Thanks, Mom.” Dean sticks his tongue out at him and Sam’s tempted to try and throw an ice cube down the front of his shirt. He mumbles  _ jerk  _ under his breath and Dean’s foot nudges his under the table, staying there, back to work because they have to.

Sam’s mostly convinced that the collar  _ was  _ a good idea, and sooner or later, he’s going to have to pick a moment to present it to his brother.

Thank God for ancient monsters where they shouldn’t be.


	5. Chapter 5

How the hell it is that Sam always manages to find good weed is something that Dean is not only proud of, but a little envious as well. Yeah, he bought Sam his first joint but every time since, Sam’s the one to sniff the stuff out. He’s good at it, really good, and Dean is good and stoned enough that everything feels just intangible to be funny. He’s down to his boxers, Sam too, lying next to him in the motel bed and watching Sam play with the bong. God, his hands are big, perfect for… whatever they want. He leans in, tries to kiss Sam’s finger, and faceplants into the space between Sam’s knees.

So maybe they’ve had a couple of beers too, and his coordination is… not all there. Whatever. He’s warm, Sam’s there, and that’s really all he’s worried about right now. 

He pulls himself up, locked in Sam’s musky embrace the moment he’s mostly upright, and the fucker pins him, giggling. “Bet you can’t…” Whatever else is supposed to be there is lost, and Sam folds himself over and blankets himself over Dean’s back, playfully grinding against Dean’s ass.

“Getoffffff.” Dean squirms, finding just enough purchase to buck up and throw Sam sideways, listening to his brother keep fucking laughing as he tumbles and goes right down to the floor - but he’s got a hold of Dean’s ankle and he’s yanked halfway off the bed, ending up back under Sam with his arms locked behind him.

“You can’t escaaaaape.” Sam sing songs, nuzzles the back of Dean’s head, pleased as he can be with himself. Dean growls, wriggling free and throws himself back, putting Sam on his back and wrapping his legs around him, dodging Sam’s continual attempts to grab his arms.

“You ain’t so slick, Sammy.” Dean leans back, keeping his weight on Sam’s pelvis just enough to make it uncomfortable if he tries to throw him off - so instead, Sam braces a bare foot against the nightstand and pitches Dean forward, making him slide to his chest so that he can grab him and put him on the ground - followed by the crash and sudden darkness of the lamp shattering.

“Oooooohhhhh, I’m telling.” Sam giggles, shaking with laughter that absolutely isn’t necessary for something that  _ he  _ did.

“Sam, what the hell -  _ you  _ started it.” Dean slides back in his lap and all they can see of each other is only what’s revealed by the moonlight, spilling just over his brother’s face and chest. Sam leans back again, looking up at Dean a wide, easy grin splitting his lips.

“Guess I did, didn’t I?” His laughter fades, and soon he’s rubbing his fingers over Dean’s jaw and mouth, his eyes going soft, welcoming, maybe touched with a little awe, too. Dean holds still, letting him continue his exploration. Every touch makes a spark of heat race down his spine, fingers dipping lower and lower until he’s skimming along Dean’s windpipe. 

“So pretty, Dean.” He leans in, nuzzles Dean’s neck. “Pretty boy.” 

Dean swallows, the goddamn automatic response being his body going into a state of low-burning arousal, even if Sam’s not quite there yet. “Sam, stop it.”  
“Mm-mm. You are, Dean, prettiest fuckin’ alpha.” He nips at Dean’s chin, fingers spreading at the base of his throat and fuck, that’s good, better than good. He wants to make him squeeze harder - even if his alpha is wondering precisely what Sam’s hand is doing there in the first place - but he blushes instead and thank God it’s dark, because alphas don’t blush, unless it’s in the middle of a rut and everyone’s skin is pink.

“Man, shut up.” Dean hides his face in Sam’s neck, deciding that he’s just high enough that he can enjoy this without feeling shame. Dirty, hard fucking, that’s different, that’s engaging a nature that they both don’t have much control over but this? Yeah, Dean’s afraid to let it happen too much. They don’t do soft touches, slow kisses, even if they are mates.

Except they do, because they can’t keep their fucking hands to each other and half the time, neither one of them even realize they’re doing it. Dean’s willing to acknowledge it without acknowledging, another piece of them that doesn’t need words. 

Sam puts his thumb over Dean’s lips, pushing him back so that he can look at him again, the shift of muscle making the pressure at the base of his throat grow. Dean lets out a low, half-warning growl, doesn’t even know it’s coming until it rumbles against Sam’s flesh.

“You like it when I call you pretty?”  Sam leans forward, moving his thumb so that his entire hand is closed loose over Dean’s throat. “That you’re my pretty boy,  _ my  _ pretty alpha?” Heat laces Sam’s words, making Dean growl his name. It’s followed immediately by the fast, wet release of slick, feeling the warmth spread as his hole automatically readies itself up - that has to be some sort of fucking record. 

“ _Sam_.” He knows Sam smells him, feels him against whatever skin he’s settled on. He squirms, feeling the hard length of Sam’s boxer-clad dick against his body. The leather bracelet he’s wearing presses warm, rough against his skin, contrasted with the soft grip of Sam’s fingers against his throat. Fuck, this shouldn't be possible. How is he getting off on this? Another alpha has him by his neck, and it feels like he's two seconds away from creaming his underwear.   
Sam growls deep in his chest. Starts grinding up to meet the aborted thrusts Dean didn't even realize he was making. "The smell on you, Dean. No one. Nothing else is like it. When you want my knot. You just open right up. So pretty. So wet for it. So fucking good, alpha. Drives me crazy." He squeezes harder, getting with the program and Dean leans back, lets Sam have his vulnerability, wishing like hell he was naked. Sam ruts up against him, right there on the shitty, stained carpet, no fucking light - but he doesn’t need. He smells Sam, overpowering goddamn everything, his musk, stronger than normal, and..

“Sammy, your rut.” Dean knew it was about time but this isn’t the place for it, not this shitty motel in the middle of Georgia. Sam growls again, working his underwear off because he wants at Dean’s body, his hole, not caring in the least when he rips Dean’s boxers a little to get them off. Dean moans, watching Sam spit in his hand and lube his cock up with it - like he goddamn needs it.

Sam lifts him up just enough to position Dean right over his cock and then he’s bringing him down, filling him up until Dean swears that he can feel Sam’s heartbeat in his ass. He whines, grinds down, Sam doing fucking nothing but rocking his hips just enough to make Dean want more. They hardly ever do it like this, facing each other, Dean on top, not because they’re afraid to look - it’s just that Sam gets deeper from behind. Feels fucking incredible, but even Dean can see that this isn’t what Sam wants, not even what  _ Dean  _ wants. He wants to take care of him, ride him slow and easy but God, he can’t, he needs this to be hard, raw, to leave marks in the morning.

“Sam, come  _ on. _ ” Dean can’t hold himself here for that much longer, helped by Sam’s vise-like hands on his hips. Feels like they’re moving Dean wherever he wants him and fuck, Dean damn well knows that they can. They’re sweating, pleading, Sam’s knot almost catching against him and he doesn’t want to stay like this, not for that, and God, being lifted up and shoved into the bed denies him the feeling of Sam’s cock for just the briefest of moments - and then he’s shoving back in, growling, his hands keeping Dean’s body pinned where he wants. 

Sam growls, bites his throat, slams into Dean’s body over and over again. Dean moans, loud enough to piss off whomever is next to them, more than unlikely acquainted with the goddamn noise that two alphas in rut fucking make. He’s locked on Dean’s hips, knot catching, swelling, just like Dean’s own, and there’s so much sweat and slick dripping down Dean’s thighs that is squelches every time he thrusts back in. Dean’s close, so fucking close but he can’t get there, not yet, Sam feeling goddamn  _ huge  _ inside him.

“Mine, Dean, fucking  _ mine. _ ” Sam’s claiming him hard, bruises on his hips, his ass wrecked - but Dean wants him somewhere else, where this fucking started. He pries Sam’s right hand from his hip and places it at his throat, closing his fingers over Sam’s and he  _ squeezes,  _ his air cut off just long enough to make Dean see starts and come all over the fucking bed, orgasm ripping through him with firey release. Sam comes, moves his hand, and bites Dean’s shoulder, right at the join of his neck as he rocks forward and pistons his hips, breeding Dean full and then locking him in, knot swelling, pushing Dean open, the smell of rut and slick and blood filling the air.

Dean doesn’t even realize he’s hurting until the last of his orgasm has faded, the pain in his neck stinging and hard. Sam snaps up, taking Dean with him where they’re still joined together and he hears the gasp, the quick, palpating fingers against the bite that Sam just left.

“Shit, Dean, I’m… fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.” He can’t move, neither one of them can, not until Sam’s knot deflates. “I swear I didn’t mean to, you just… fuck, Dean, you smell so fucking good right now.” He presses his head to Dean’s other shoulder, holding him close, still planted on the floor. Dean’s vision of the bed is blurry but God, his whole body feels all blissful, the pain of the bite a sharp counterpoint to the hormones Sam’s rut just triggered in him.

“Sammy, hey.” Dean manages to turn his head, get his hand in Sam’s hair and pull him in for a kiss. Their tongues slide against each other, slow, wet, Sam apologizing with what feels like every motion. “Didn’t know you had that in you, baby boy.”

Sam has the gall to look sincerely confused and really, for all that goddamn brain power, Sam’s so, so innocent at times. “Did… you’re not mad?’

“Definitely not - pretty sure you just knocked me the fuck up. Get ready, Sam, we’re having some kids.” Dean teases him with a grin and Sam tries to shove him away - only he’s not quite done yet, his knot still keeping Dean right where he wants him.

“Ass,” he says, and Dean just… God, he loves him, a whole fucking lot. They end up moving to where Sam’s laying on his side with Dean spooned up against him, trading more unhurried, hazy kisses until Sam finally slips out of him, the opening round in what’s already shaping up to be a rut they’ll still be feeling next week. The mess of slick and come trickles out of Dean’s ass, startling him enough that he hops the bathroom to clean up. Sam normally does it for him - but after that, Dean wants a moment for himself.

Sam hasn’t bit him like that since they mated, and yeah, it looks a lot worse than it feels. It’s not even bleeding anymore, but Dean certainly feels claimed all over again. Like he belongs, to no one and nothing but Sam.

And that’s to say nothing of the bruises around his neck, tender and likely to have more added to them. Dean isn’t all that surprised - he likes being held down by Sam, and apparently choked. Whatever - they piss on each other, so getting choked out a little as he comes isn’t that big a deal.

“Dean?” Sam’s just behind the mostly closed door, and Dean pulls it open, mouth watering again already at the sight of Sam’s naked body.

“Come to knot me in the shower?” Christ, he just blew his brains out for his dick and already he wants him again. No fucking off switch, not when they’re in rut.

Sam laughs, looking at the tatty bathmat under Dean’s feet. “Uh… I have something for you. It… can I just show you, and then you can deck me if you don’t want to…”

Dean pulls him in by the hand, all that ridiculous sweetness completely unable to be contained even in his stupidly big body. “Just show me.”

Sam licks his lips, and tells Dean to face the mirror and hold still, _just trust me_ a whisper that Dean isn’t even sure gets said. S He brings his hands up to Dean’s neck and no, Dean never would have guessed at what Sam’s putting around his neck. A permanent, tangible claim, better than bruises, one of his shirts, any fucking thing.

“Sammy, this…” He touches it once Sam has fastened the clasp, the leather already warm and soft. The musk - Sam’s musk - is strong, like he’s under Sam and licking his balls on a hot day, strong enough that it closes down the thinking parts of his brain in a  _ big  _ damn hurry.

“Figured it’d be better than my dirty boxers, Dean, and… you don’t have to wear it all the time, or at all, just… you deserve more, man.” He’s actually sheepish about it, hiding behind Dean so that he can only really see his eyes.

Dean leans back against him, against his  _ alpha,  _ and for a moment at least, lets the sense of security wash over him. “Don’t think there’s all that much I want, Sam. I’m pretty much set in that department.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kisses him, putting Sam’s hand up so that his fingers brush his collar. He wants to take Sam in his mouth, his ass, every fucking place, until they’ve ruined another fucking hotel room and it can be scented for miles.

Right this second, there’s just one thing he wants more than others.

“Wanna see if you can still throat fuck me wearing this thing?”

Sam doesn’t need any more encouragement than that.   



End file.
